Last night, as I was driving back from Phoenix, a BBC News report came on National Public Radio. At that time, I looked up at the Moon, and saw the crater shadow that looks like a giant in full stride. The account on BBC was of the life of Neil Armstrong- how apropos! I can remember, when we were in the midst of Basic Training, a drill instructor brought us all up into a room which had a TV. The instructor told us that today was a moment that would live in the memories of everyone alive at that time. The Apollo 11 Crew had made it to the Moon’s surface. As 45 green soldiers-in-training, and millions of other people, watched, Neil Armstrong stepped onto the surface of our planet’s natural satellite and uttered his famous words-minimizing his own act and placing emphasis on the collective: It was Mankind that had taken a bounding leap into the greater universe.
Neil Armstrong was too self-effacing a man to ever insert himself into continuous national prominence, afterward. In spite of that, or maybe BECAUSE of it, he will live for all posterity as one of the greatest American heroes- a fact acknowledged by President Obama, by his colleague Edwin “Buzz” Aldrin, and more privately by thousands of us around the globe. It was his wish to see us move on towards further lunar exploration and towards the exploration of Mars. Let’s do that, as a human race, and do so responsibly, as good stewards and as good neighbours in the Universe.
Long ago, a builder decided to erect a structure that he intended to last for several centuries. He planned it to house those of his family who had nowhere else to go. He drew long plans for the house, then set to work. Shortly afterward, there were twelve men and a woman who came to help. The builder looked around his neighbourhood, and saw that several of the older structures which had been originally built simply and well, had fallen into disrepair, and were overcrowded with objects. The people who lived in those buildings valued the objects more than the houses, or even their own lives. Animals, large and small, were allowed to live in the houses as well, and there were several competing landlords, even within one house.
The builder told his helpers: “If anything should happen to me, before the house is finished, Mr. Rock will lead the crew. Make sure that only one of you is the landlord.” The helpers were a bit puzzled by that comment, but kept on with their work, day by day- with the woman often encouraging the men. One day, the builder was set upon by some competing contractors, who had been cued in, as to his plans, by one of the crew members, who was not satisfied with his wage. The builder died of his injuries, three days later. Mr. Rock tried to carry on, after the builder was laid to rest, but several of the crew left to build houses of their own, saying they could do better than Mr. Rock.
Mr. Rock managed to finish his great house, but over time, his successors added rooms and overstocked the house with furniture and glittering objects. The poor were cast out, and found their way to several other houses, which various former crew members had built. The original house still stood, over several centuries, somewhat strong and sturdy, but a shadow of its former self.
St. Peter’s Basilica
In time, another builder, in a nearby neighbourhood, noticed the various homes that had been built centuries earlier. He determined to build a grand house, similar to the originals of the others. This would house the good-hearted of his family, and would be a place where learning and science were valued. He also gathered several helpers, all men. The builder had two crew leaders- one to help with the building itself and the other to organize the men. He said that, if anything happened to him, before the house was completed, that the crew leader responsible for the building itself would take his place. This did not set well with the supervisor of the men, who thought that he, alone, would build a house grand enough to dominate the whole city. He would do this by being hard and tough, and punishing those who disagreed with him.
As it happened, as the house was nearing completion, the builder took ill with a fever. As he was languishing in bed, his building supervisor came to him and asked, “Master, what would you have me do?” The builder responded, in a weak voice, “Carry on, as I have asked.” Just then, the supervisor of the men entered the room. “The master is weak and confused. He knows not what he is saying. I shall take charge now!” The men listened and by, force of numbers, banished the building supervisor and his small group of helpers to an outlying area of the city. No sooner had the builder died of his fever, than the two supervisors began to build houses of their own. The supervisor of the crew finished the original house, and grand it was! The original building supervisor built his own house, several blocks away, but encouraged his tenants to visit the original great house and always look to it as a model. As time went on, others built similar houses of their own, separately from the two former crew mates.
The Grand Mosque of Mecca
Many, many years thereafter, two builders appeared on the scene. The first builder constructed a small, but elegant cottage- which was finished at considerable peril to himself and many of his helpers. The residents of the last great house’s building supervisor’s domicile made many attempts to stop the completion of the little cottage. They even killed the new builder and many of his crew.
The second of the two new builders, however, was the one with a greater set of plans. The old home’s residents prevailed on the building inspector to chase this new architect from one neighbourhood to another. After several years, he and his crew landed in an old and decaying city, far from the place where he had grown and had worked with his colleague. His idea, however, was to build a great palace, where there was room for all who wished to live there. So, he set to work ,beginning the great palace- surviving attacks from several followers of the earlier builders, from his own former chief lieutenant and from the various building inspectors.
All this exhausted the Master Builder, and he left completion of the Palace to his eldest son and further descendants. He left a message, before leaving this world, that those who wished, should live there in peace and harmony, for at least a 1,000 years. Those who wished to leave the Palace could do so, but they would be on their own. The building of the Great Palace goes on, to this day, and will continue for some time to come. Occasionally, some crew members go off, to build their own “palaces”, but with no plans, is it any surprise that these turn out to be hovels? For without attention to the plans that work, how can a home be made to last?
If Tyrion Lannister were a time traveler, I can envision him on stage with Peggy Lee, doing a duet of “Is That All There Is?”.
I have just finished reading the five completed volumes of “A Song of Ice and Fire”. This is arguably the most complex and riveting series since Tolkien’s Ring Trilogy- yes, a cut above Harry Potter. Maybe it’s the unabridged realism of how the human animals treat one another, and the “no promises” twists and turns of George R.R. Martin’s imagined blend of pre-history, ancient Rome and China, medieval Europe and 20th Century American snarkiness that kept me going- and leave me waiting, eagerly, but patiently, for Volume 6.
There are characters I have come to love, and love to hate.
The aforementioned Tyrion swings like a pendulum between the former group and the latter- his finest moment, thus far, is his sensitivity in the wedding bedroom with the hapless Sansa Stark. His basest, the slaughter of his father, is balanced by the fact that Lord Tywin is such a hideous man of his times.
The girls, Daenerys Targaryen, Sansa (aka Alayne Stone), her sister, Arya (aka “Cat of the Canals”), Ygritte, Margaery, the two Jeynes and Myrcella are stunningly sympathetic beings- though never saccharine and always complete personalities, they are always supremely lovable. I found myself infuriated at the harshness that continually comes their way in the course of the story, but always cheering for their successes and ingenuity, while knowing that they will need to suffer the same ignominies as everyone else.
Besides Tyrion, the tale abounds with great characters: the insipid, but dangerous, Vargo Hoat; the ever-present shadow, Lord Varys; the good-hearted brute, Strong Belwas and the kindly giant, Wun Wun. I would have liked to have seen Ned Stark and his bastard son, Jon Snow, escape their cruel fates, at least for a time, but the story would have probably suffered.
The great villains, Tywin, his daughter Cersei, Roose Bolton, his bastard son Ramsay and the psychotic Walder Frey bring a near-blinding blackness to their corners of Martin’s undulating Eurasian prototype.
The great adventurers- Robb Stark, Drogo, Jaime Lannister, Stannis Baratheon, Jorah Mormont, Victarion Greyjoy, Jon Connington- and Tyrion, in his own way, show the destiny that so often awaits those who ride larger than life- and end up getting snagged by a combination of their own folly and the treachery of their petulant enemies.
The promise, and the threat, will continue for at least two more volumes, as Daenerys and her young nephew Aegon follow their destinies. My hope is that the vagaries of modern American television don’t thwart George R.R. Martin in HIS imaginative quest. Let’s wait for “The Winds of Winter”, “A Dream of Spring” and whatever else the denizens of Westeros and the eastern cities may care to bring us.
Friday afternoon found me in search of petroglyphs. I knew they would not be as extensive as those of Mesa Verde or Bandelier, but they are our local link to the Sinagua people.
The first part of the northern spur is uphill. The uphill is not steep, and leads to a ridge, giving a fine view of Granite Mountain and Thumb Butte, plus all in between.
Of course, there is no direct trail from here. One would encounter several subdivisions along the way.
I crossed a dry wash bed, in between the two hills which make up the trail.
Going along towards the site of the petroglyphs, one encounters several limestone fields, as was true of the southern spur.
Once past these, there is a slightly-flowing North Fork of Miller Creek, as the water emerges from underground.
Then, a short climb over some other rocks leads to the final boulder field, and the petroglyphs.
The petroglyphs are faded spirals, with a barely visible upright figure on one of the boulders.
As I left the petroglyph area, I noted what looked like the head of a snapping turtle- petrified for posterity.
The trail is easy enough to do in one hike, on a cool day. This being the monsoon season, I found splitting the trail in two was the best course.
Yesterday, I hiked two miles, round trip on Prescott’s newest trail- The Centennial Trail, which runs along a limestone boulder field south of Thumb Butte and west of uptown Prescott. I took the southern spur, which gives views of the Bradshaw Mountains, Miller Valley and downtown.About 1/4 mile along, one comes to this wooden bridge.
The following are some noteworthy limestone fields heading up to the overlook.
At the top of the South Spur, one may view midtown, just across Miller Valley and the Bradshaws,to the southeast.
The most visible building above is Yavapai Medical Center- Prescott Campus.
Off to the west, just past the overlook, below, there is a formation that somewhat resembles the Sphinx.
There was not a whole lot of water flowing, but the stream which is crossed by the trail is the North Fork of Miller Creek, which is not swiftly flowing, even in the wettest of seasons.
This is a pictureless post, because the images of terror that we see, every time a self-appointed social regulator takes to the streets or buildings, to kill and maim innocent people, are vivid enough. I leave it to qualified psychiatrists to judge whether a miscreant is psychotic.
When I was in graduate school, one of our professors gave a lecture on “Neurotic Means to Power”. The usual suspects, from Napoleon to Nixon, were examined briefly, but the crux of her message was that a neurotic person seeks power at various levels of the social structure. Friendships, families, work relationships, and politics are all subject to the neurotic in search of meaning in his/her life. Most likely, we all have a need to influence the behavior of those around us, so as to ensure personal safety. Neurosis kicks in, however, when a person’s identity depends on the number of people who listen and obey one’s dictates and demands, as well as the extent to which those people listen and obey.
Some obedience is necessary to the survival of the obedient. Laws are sent to us by God, the Creator, the Universe, Unknowable Essence, Great Wave of Energy, or whatever you wish to call That which put us here. We follow along, willingly or not, because the alternative, chaos, is way out of most people’s comfort zones. Children obey their parents and other adults, because they only have their own will power to guide them, otherwise, and it gets sketchy not having all the answers. Most people obey the police and courts, because without a system, it could be they who are hurt or killed next.
Those who know me know that I am a law-abiding person. I’ve never been arrested, and have paid willingly for the occasional excesses of my right foot, when behind the wheel. I have never, and won’t, however, kowtow to those who insert themselves into my affairs, with no more authority than “This is how I expect you to act.”
Back to the shooting in Aurora. James Holmes, as far as we know, acted alone. That makes him the same as the shooter at Virginia Tech, Andrew Kunanan and Ted Bundy. He could not dominate or control those with whom he was intimate, if indeed there were any such people, so he chose to thrash and flail at strangers. We don’t know if he had been bullied as a child, spanked on his birthday or spurned by a woman. We do know however that two wrongs don’t make a right, two stupids don’t make a smart, fourteen deaths don’t make a life.
What does neurotic seeking of power get a person, in the end? My guess is that it earns the person a label of toxic, among his/her peers. It earns annoyance, followed by anger, followed by avoidance and isolation. These may or may not lead the power-seeker to lash out in further anger- at self or at others.
James Holmes ended up controlling no one. The historical figures cited by my professor, except for Nixon, ended their lives in defeat and disgrace. My final point is this: There is a system, throughout the Universe, which follows the laws of physics and their subordinate man-made laws. This system is understood by most, and all are subject to it. This system makes no provision for those without authority to dictate, demand, cajole, ridicule or browbeat those around them into submission.
When someone who is not my mother, family elder, work supervisor or officer of the legal system tells me “You will!”, that’s when I won’t- unless it makes sense to ME. When that same person says “You can’t”, that’s when I will- if it would benefit me or others.
The lesson of the film which James Holmes disrupted is that ad hoc, casual, unsanctioned exercise of authority will never succeed, in the end, because the human spirit is answerable only to the Higher Power. This applies equally to the power usurper with arms and ammunition, and to those whose weapon is their tongue.
This day is among the more solemn for us Baha’is. On July 9, 1850, Baha’ullah’s Immediate Predecessor, whose title is al-Bab, or “The Gate”, was executed by firing squad, after having been held in three separate prisons.
Al-Bab’s basic message was that it was time for mankind to prepare for One Who would unite the human race, by spiritual principles. It was al-Bab’s purpose to pave the way for this Messenger, much as John the Baptist did for Christ.
As this was a challenge to Islamic orthodoxy, the mullahs prevailed upon the government of Persia (now Iran) to imprison al-Bab and oppress His followers. This went on for about five years, and when the Babi Faith grew anyway, execution became the method of choice for “containment” of the new faith.
The Faith of al-Bab was succeeded by the Baha’i Faith, with Baha’ullah’s Revelation in 1853, while He was in prison in Teheran, for having followed the Teachings of His Immediate Predecessor. The execution of al-Bab was only an accelerant to the growth of our Faith, first in Persia, then, gradually world-wide.
Between 200-300 of us gathered at San Diego Baha’i Center at noon on July 9. We offered prayers and solemnly reflected on the events mentioned above.
Before this solemn event, I spent some time at the nearby campus of the University of San Diego, a Catholic institution. Here are some of the larger buildings of this venerable institution:
After leaving San Diego, I had the unique experience of stopping in Palm Springs, which offered a temperature of 116. I chose not to take the tram up Chino Canyon, to the top of Mt. San Jacinto. This was a budget thing, not a heat thing. The top would have offered 71 degrees.
Here are some photos of the area.
I will go back and take the tram, right before New Year’s.
Now for the kitsch.
Marilyn was the first woman on whom I had a crush- at age 10. It hit me hard when she passed on.
The heat was what it was, and 116 was not quite what she, Jack Lemmon and Tony Curtis had in mind in the 1959 classic film. I cooled off nicely with a seafood salad and plenty of ice water, at Blue Coyote Grill.
Most diners chose to go inside. I found it quite pleasant, though, in the shaded courtyard, under the misters.
So, the day was an eclectic mix of sacred, profane and much in between.
So as to keep the right perspective, I will end with a house of worship in Palm Springs.
I am inspired by the workings of my Faith, awestruck by the power of nature and amused by the harmless aspects of pop culture. Now, though, it’s time to stay close to home for a couple of months, and take the inner journeys offered by the “Song of Ice and Fire” series of novels.
Since Aram had today off as well, we made plans to attend a spiritual discourse by a Baha’i scholar from Malaysia, at the San Diego Baha’i Center, then go to La Jolla and see how many seals were spending the summer here.
The talk was on the subject of spiritual progress, both in this life and after death. We believe one does impact the other, and that there is a connection between this world and the next.
After 2 1/2 hours of spiritual nourishment, we found ourselves looking about La Jolla for an equally satisfying lunch. We found it readily, at The Brick and Bell Cafe. The ladies go all out, with the quality of their food and the efficiency of service. It’s a small place, but they managed to serve about 40 people, in the half hour or so that we were there.
We walked down to the shore and spent equal parts of time looking down on the ocean and surveying the seal population- most of which was in the surf, hunting. Aram expressed happiness at having been introduced to this beach.
The white spot in the background indicates where a seal is near the surface.
The surf was not disappointing to either man or seal.
The rocks never are a letdown for our flippered friends.
After this, we went up to Torrey Pines State Beach. Aram chose to delve further into a book he is reading, while I went into the surf a bit. I have photos of Torrey Pines posted on my March, 2012 album on La Jolla.
We ended the day with light and satisfying entrees at the TGI Friday, in the Gaslamp Quarter. It was time for Aram to head back to base, and prepare for another week. I stayed at Parkside Inn for one more night, with a Baha’i holy day observance scheduled for the Center at noon on Monday.
Neil Young sang, nasily,but well, of “24 and there’s so much more”. I want all that for my son, who turned twenty-four last Saturday. It was still early for him, when I broke camp, so I headed down Hwy 79 to Santa Ysabel, a small village where there is a mission to the Kumeyaay people.
I spent a few minutes visiting the mission grounds, then had breakfast at Apple Country Restaurant. The story here is that someone stole the bells from the mission in 1929. The clappers were found later, but not the castings. The mission is open 9-5. I was there at 8.
Here is the front of Apple Country Restaurant. I sat at the counter, as I often do in such places, and enjoyed top-quality corned beef hash w/ scramblers, toast and coffee. There were several people in hunting garb, and military camo, and a lone woman, who struck me as an artist or poet of some sort. At least she kept to herself in the corner, and seemed lost in deep thought. I know that feeling well. I headed downhill after breakfast, and got into the city around 9:30.
Aram and I headed first to Cabrillo Point National Monument, which commemorates the defense of San Diego during WWII. Californians who were around back then would know of the attempted Japanese landing near Santa Barbara. The whole coast was soon well-defended, following that aborted attack.
The lighthouse and defenses lie well above the shoreline.
Joao Rodrigues Cabrillo, whose name’s spelling shows his west Iberian roots, stands guard over the point which bears his name. He captained the first Spanish landing, near Point Loma. After this, we had a sumptuous lunch at Sushiya, on the sea level side of Point Loma. Aram patiently endured my search for a motel, after my usual haunt was besieged by a convention of golfers, headed to Torrey Pines. I found my new haunt, Parkside Inn, which is actually more centrally located.
With that done, we headed to Mission Valley Mall, and took in “The Amazing Spider Man”. This sort of film always challenges my own acrophobia. I have made a solemn vow to NEVER be outside on a building higher than 10 stories tall. The inside of places like Seoul Tower, the Willis, or the Space Needle, doesn’t faze me. Neither do the overlooks at Grand Canyon or various tall mountains. Skyscrapers- forgettaboutit! The film, we both agree, is a cut above the previous series. Andrew Garfield is a more believable “teen”, Sally Field is always easy on the eyes, and Denis Leary is a great father figure. The Lizard Man is also more plausible than the Green Goblin, unfortunate as that would seem.
We would have more adventure, and misadventure, on Sunday.
These next four posts are all the result of my being there for Aram’s 24th birthday. As he “grows up”, and the Navy calls his tune, I cherish any chance I can get to help him celebrate one of the happiest days of my life.
I set out around 9:30 A.M., and made the drive to Blythe in little more than 2 1/2 hours. It was lunch time, so I went looking for the desert town’s best kept secret, after a photo shoot of the Colorado River, from the AZ side.
Once across, a quick drive down Lovekin Boulevard led me to my goal:
This fine little place does BQ the right way- slowly. It offers St. Louis-style ribs, and a nice variety of other styles, all in a tiny storefront that seats about 25 people indoors and four outside. Best of all, this is a sign that Blythe is coming back to stay.
I did my usual blaze across the desert to the Riverside area. This time, I chose to head down Hwy 79, from Beaumont, through Hemet, and the back country of San Bernardino National Forest, to Oak Grove Campground, just outside Aguanga.
In Hemet, I spent about an hour helping a stranded motorist, near a spot often mentioned by a friend who lives in the town.
Stranded in suburbia shouldn’t happen to anyone. Once he was safely on his way, so was I. There were some fine orange groves, and wild back roads, waiting.
I was delighted to find Oak Grove Campground, right off Hwy 79, just east of Aguanga. Here, I was lulled to sleep by the nearby crickets and not-so-nearby coyotes.
At 6 A.M., Saturday morning, I was up and ready for a day of celebration.
About 1/4 mile along, one comes to this wooden bridge.
A Sagittarian Seeker 